Give a Corpse a Bad Name by Elizabeth Ferrars Page A

you’ll have to count in all the Maxwell servants.’
    An impatient frown gathered above Toby’s beak of a nose. But the sergeant looked round at George. Pink in the face from the heat of the fire, he was sitting on a sort of tuffet of coloured leather and beads.
    â€˜That’s right!’ said Eggbear, and on a note of rising enthusiasm: ‘That’s right! I believe you’ve hit somethin’, Mr—excuse me, but what is your name? Reckon I’ve never heard it.’
    â€˜Posslethwaite,’ said George.
    â€˜Mr Posslethwaite. ’Twas this way, I’ll be ready to bet. One of the servants—the chauffeur, or Harvey, or any o’ they—they knew, from the stories goin’ round after the big accident, that Mrs Milne had that flask in her car, and took a swig on the quiet like—’
    â€˜A swig,’ said Toby, ‘that completely emptied a full flask. People taking swigs on the quiet like, Sam, don’t usually do anything to give themselves away so badly.’
    â€˜Maybe there was more than one o’ them in it. And the last one wouldn’t know as the flask was full at the beginnin’.’
    Toby chuckled. ‘Procession to the drinking well—a sweet picture.’
    â€˜Well, Maxwells don’t keep no drink of their own in the house, I can tell you that,’ said Eggbear. ‘And the last one, he’d know the flask was empty, wouldn’t he? And then, when it comes out at the inquest as there must be a flask or bottle somewhere around, he sees a chance of makin’ trouble—’
    â€˜Assuming,’ said Toby, ‘he’s someone with a particular grudge against Mrs Milne. D’you know of anyone?’
    â€˜Maybe ’tisn’t a particular grudge at all,’ said Eggbear, ‘but just a grudge against society like, or maybe—’ and his face lit up—‘he’s got a perverted psychology.’
    Toby said nothing. He sloped the teacup on his chest, tucked in his chin and drank a little tea. Suddenly he inquired: ‘Any inquiries being made in South Africa?’
    Eggbear nodded.
    â€˜And the steamship company?’
    â€˜Yes, there was a third-class passenger called Maxwell on the Kintyre Castle last week. Why? Worryin’ about that identification, Toby? The old lady’s half cracked, that’s all there is to that.’
    â€˜I want to know more about those Maxwells,’ said Toby, ‘and about that young man Laws.’
    â€˜Just now and then,’ muttered the sergeant, ‘I find myself wonderin’ why you want to know. You’re sure you aren’t still employed by that newspaper, Toby?’
    â€˜Shelley Maxwell,’ said Toby ruminatively, ignoring him. ‘Shelley Maxwell. That tells you a good deal, doesn’t it? His parents meant him to be one of those lucent spirits, shining with the white fire of idealistic—’
    â€˜Tobe,’ George interrupted, ‘if it was one of them emptied the flask, it was done before they knew who the dead chap was.’
    â€˜Was it?’ said Toby. Then: ‘ Was it?’ Sitting up with a jerk he slopped tea on to his trousers. He looked round him with a glazed kind of stare. ‘Please, please,’ he rapped out suddenly at Mrs Eggbear, ‘tell me all the scandal you know about the Maxwells!’

    â€˜You see, George,’ said Toby, as the two of them walked back to the inn, ‘the major’s cottage is only a few minutes walk away from that bit of road, and the house itself isn’t so far away. Suppose that Shelley Maxwell wasn’t going to the house, but coming away from it …’
    George grunted. ‘Suppose,’ he said, ‘we talked about something else for a while.’
    Toby laughed. They were walking through a faint mist, blown in from the sea. It was saltily dank against their faces.
    Toby laughed again. Then he started whistling, and, as it